


promises

by aliaaaaaa



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Badass Husbands, Badass Newt Scamander, Badass Percival Graves, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Couple, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliaaaaaa/pseuds/aliaaaaaa
Summary: Percival looks at his blue vest, cursing inwardly about how it’s going to be a bitch to get the blood stain out from his white shirt and he’ll probably need to ask the younger Goldstein to mend the tear in the fabric. He’s in the middle of lamenting about the state of his coat and trousers when he feels clammy hands cupping his face, and when he looks up, and his eyes meet glassy moss green orbs, only then does everything come back to him; the loud noises, the sharp colored spells and curses being thrown about. Someone yelling his name in distress.





	promises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladymischief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymischief/gifts).



> hello again. I am here to offer my humble story about Newt and Percival being badass husbands together and I usually don't dabble in hurt/comfort genre because it physically stresses me out to think about bad things happening to my boys but I was intrigued to write this after seeing axilarts' [drawing](https://axilarts.tumblr.com/post/161614409241/well-thegaypumpingthroughyourveins-you-literally). so tada!
> 
> this has been beta-read by my friends, Anna & [Kennedy!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/readwriteandavengers/pseuds/readwriteandavengers)
> 
> all mistakes are mine!

The thing about the Graves’ family is that there’s powerful old magic running through the bloodline; a magic that Percival inherited upon his birth.

With it comes a sharp instinct that every Graves seems to share. By the time he is old enough to understand what the entitlement of being a Graves means, Percival knows that this sharp instinct is not a skill that can be taught, or learned, or acquired.

It comes naturally.

All those split-second decisions of either moving to the left or right, of what spell that he needs to throw in a duel; it is something that has been inbred so deeply in him that Percival trusts his instinct wholeheartedly, almost blindly. It’s what has gotten him so far in life; what has kept him alive throughout the war, and what has kept him alert when he’s carrying out his duty as an Auror.

So it’s no surprise that when Percival finds himself in a situation where he’s battling the illegal poachers and there’s a deadly curse being thrown towards Newt, his sharp instinct propels him to mindlessly throw himself in front of his husband, shielding him from harm.

Percival has been wounded before. It comes with the job. You cannot escape being injured when you’re an Auror, so he is used to the feeling of the painful, prickling sensation invading his senses from whichever dark curse his opponent has decided to use on him. Due to that, it’s almost a reflex now, to ignore the pain in order to raise his wand and mutter a counter-spell, watching the tip be engulfed by an eerie blue spark before it blasts his opponent against the brick wall with a satisfying loud thump.

In these moments, things happen so fast, as it usually does whenever he’s in a duel. Everything just goes by in a blur. All the noises are drowned out, his senses are pulled thin until he is numb to everything. The pain doesn’t usually register in the beginning because his magic is strong enough to stop the dark curse from spreading.

But something in this curse has made it so powerful that when he tries to stand, his knees give up on him; making him drop to his knees on the hard ground with a pained gasp leaving his mouth. He knows something is wrong because the pain feels too sharp, too wrong. And when he looks down to his side, he sees it; a rusty long knife is stuck through his stomach almost to the hilt.

Percival looks at his blue vest, cursing inwardly about how it’s going to be a bitch to get the blood stain out from his white shirt and he’ll probably need to ask the younger Goldstein to mend the tear in the fabric. He’s in the middle of lamenting about the state of his coat and trousers when he feels clammy hands cupping his face, and when he looks up, and his eyes meet glassy moss green orbs, only then does everything come back to him; the loud noises, the sharp colored spells and curses being thrown about. Someone yelling his name in distress.

_Newt._

Percival wants to tell him to stop yelling because he feels a headache starting to form behind his left eyeball. He opens his mouth and spits blood instead.

“—stupid man! _What were you thinking?!”_

Percival doesn’t think. He just does. And he knows that his instinct has made the right decision by making him move to shield Newt from the curse. His instinct is never wrong. It’s the right thing to do.

“Newt–”

“Shut up! Don’t talk!” Newt snaps at him, but his voice sounds wobbly. Percival wants to tell Newt that it’s okay but Newt is tearing his vest with vicious hands, taking out his anger on the innocent fabric as he rips apart the blood-coated shirt next.

Percival wants to tell Newt that his shirt is expensive and Newt should treat it with respect but Newt is yelling again. For Tina this time. Telling her to summon the medi-wizards fast. His hands are pressing on Percival’s stomach, mindful of the gashing wound. The cold clamminess of Newt’s hands feels good on Percival’s heated skin and he sighs contentedly, only to cough out blood again. He’s tired and his throat feels parched, like he hasn’t drank anything in days, and he feels cold to his very bones. He suspects that the knife is laced with some kind of potion because he’s shaking so badly now that his teeth are chattering.

“You’re going into shock,” Newt says, all too clinical as he points his wand and mutters a shaky _Vulnera Sanentur_ at the wound. He watches in fascination as his flowing blood slows down to a trickle around the knife that is still lodged deep in his body. “Tina has alerted St. Jude and the medi-wizards should be here soon.”

Percival nods, licks his teeth and spits out more blood. Newt’s cold, clammy hand is pressing on Percival’s hand now and he realizes that Newt’s fingers are sticky with blood.

“Hurt?” Percival coughs the word out with a huff, because it would do him no good if Newt was hurt.

“Not my blood,” Newt replies, an anguish sob tearing through his chest when Percival wheezes in pain. “Hold on, please. Help is on the way.”

He closes his eyes only to snap them open when Newt slaps his face.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Newt grunts as he pushes Percival to sit up straight; propping Percival’s chest against his bony shoulder as he kneels in front of Percival, one hand pressing on Percival’s stomach, making sure the knife doesn’t move. “Listen to my voice and try to stay awake until the medi-wizards come.”

If he could roll his eyes at Newt, he would do exactly that. But he feels exhausted, and his head is swimming and the pain in his stomach hasn’t dulled at all, not even when the blood flow slowed down. He could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest, jumping to his throat, trying to ooze out from his ears.

He presses his forehead against Newt’s instead, tries to breathe slowly but by the sound of his loud grunting with every shaky exhale, he knows he cannot fool his body.

“Everything is going to be alright,” Newt whispers, the words tumbling out in a rush and Newt’s warm breath ghosting on Percival’s skin, causing him to realize that his cheek is wet. He doesn’t know who is crying. Maybe Newt. Maybe him. Maybe both of them. So he presses his face to Newt’s even more, opening his mouth to reassure Newt that he’s alright. That the pain is bearable. That help is on its way. That Newt did so amazing in the field today.

But he coughs again, blood dribbling out of the side of his mouth, and Newt’s forehead is furrowing, tears streaming down his face, yet still he looks determined. So stubbornly beautiful even when he’s broken.

“You’re not allowed to die on me, Percival Graves,” Newt says, hisses at him; his fingers digging into Percival’s cheek, his blunt nails creating crescent shapes against the skin. “I’m not done with you yet. We still have a lot to do together. You promised me that you would build a sanctuary for my creatures and I intend for you to keep that promise fulfilled! You promised that you would follow me to Malaya, to find the mythical bird. You promised…” Newt sobs, his throat working before he swallows down his cries. In a quiet voice, Newt pleads, “We promised to grow old together, remember? I’ve promised you that I’m going to take care of you. So you need to stay alive so I can keep that promise. Please… Percy. Just hold on a little longer.”

Percival hears every word, even as his vision begins to fail him. He tries to focus on Newt because this is important. Newt is important and he wants to tell Newt that he loves Newt more than his own self, and that he is sorry for making Newt worry but he doesn’t regret what he did in order to make sure Newt was alright. Because he had promised Theseus, he had promised himself that he would always put Newt first above everyone else. Only his tongue feels numb and his throat is too dry and he means to nod at Newt but he doesn’t know if he can accomplish that because everything feels too heavy and his vision is fading out.

He raises his hand, even when it feels like a lead weight, and touches Newt’s cheek softly, almost a whisper of a feeling, before it falls heavily on Newt’s lap, leaving a trail of blood on Newt’s cheek, and for one slow moment Percival thinks that Newt looks ethereal like this. Beautiful like a warrior, with his pale skin and blood smearing his freckled cheek, like red constellations in the morning sky.

“Newt,” Percival breathes, his mouth pressing against Newt’s lips; a chaste kiss meant to drive the tight feeling in his chest away, only for him to feel like this is it, he is running out of time and he is fucked because he doesn’t want to go yet because he still wants to be with Newt because he still has so much to do with his husband, so many promises that he has made and wants to fulfill, just to make Newt happy.

It’s a testament to how long they have been together, almost a decade between them, when Newt cups his jaw gently, and kisses him hard; nipping at his bottom lip. “I won’t allow you to die on me today. Not bloody today, Percy. _Fuck_.”

Percival smiles because Newt rarely swears, and it’s such a stupid thing wanting to die right now when he just panicked about leaving Newt behind but he’s smiling with Newt’s mouth pressing soft kisses on his lips and it’s a perfect way for him to leave this world because he has fulfilled his promise to make sure Newt is safe. Newt needs to live and Percival is selfish enough to never want to live a moment without Newt.

Except when he’s ready to say goodbye to Newt, to tell him to take care of himself and that he loves him so very much; there’s a loud pop behind them and Tina yelling that help is finally here.

 

* * *

 

When Percival cracks open his eyes, the first thing he sees is Dougal’s big gray ominous eyes looking at him.

He blinks back and sees the way Dougal’s eyes grow big and there’s a faint happy expression on his face before the air is distorted and Dougal fades out from his view.

“Hey, no,” Percival groans, hand trying to reach to where he saw Dougal last except there’s a tug on his fingers from the sudden movement and a loud, sharp intake of breath from his left side.

Newt blinks owlishly at him, his hair mussed up from sleep, and there are dark spots underneath his swollen eyes.

“Percy?” Newt whispers, licking his lip and blinking his eyes some more to dispel the sleep. “You’re awake!”

“Hi,” Percival croaks, painfully aware that his throat is parched, and then there are long fingers tipping his jaw up, and cool water sliding down his parched throat, making him sigh in satisfaction.

“Thank you,” Percival says quietly, face tilting up to look at his husband who only nods at him, a pinched expression etched deeply on his face. “Are you not going to talk to me?” Percival asks, dipping his chin even more when Newt refuses to look at him even when his ridiculously long fingers are still intertwining with Percival’s.

Newt only shakes his head, mouth twisting into an anguished pout, grinding his teeth in silence.

“Hey,” Percival whispers, pulling Newt closer to him by their tangled fingers. “I almost died you know.”

“And whose fault is that?” Newt explodes, roaring the words like an angry nundu; his moss green eyes sparking with anger. “You foolish man! Do you even stop for a second to think before you do something stupid?!”

Newt is livid. His usually pale face is flushed red with anger and his pouty mouth is twisted into an ugly sneer as he jabs his finger into Percival’s chest. “Do you even know how worried I was seeing you get stabbed because of me?! How could you be so stupid throwing your life like that?!”

Percival keeps quiet, watching as Newt paces around the room.

“I had to wait three hours while you were operated on! Three whole hours of not knowing your condition, three whole hours of trying not to break down, three whole hours of trying not to think of how I’m going to be if you’re gone,” Newt sobs the last word out, fingers in his messy hair, pulling at it as he cries openly.

Percival raises his hand and calls out whatever magic he has left in his system to pull Newt to him until his husband is sprawled gracelessly on top of him.

_“Percy!”_

“Shut up and listen to me,” Percival says calmly, his arm going around Newt’s shaking shoulders, and there’s a dull stab of hurt in his stomach from where the knife was lodged in his belly, but his guilt for making Newt worry is much more painful. “I’m not going to say I’m sorry for taking the knife for you. I don’t regret it even a bit. It’s my duty as your husband to make sure that you’re safe.”

Newt tries to protest but Percival shushes him. “I’m not going to promise you that I won’t do it again because you know that I would do it again if I had the chance,” Percival whispers, his dry mouth brushing against Newt’s forehead. “I love you and you’re my whole existence and I’m going to make sure that you’re always safe because you’re irreplaceable, Newt.”

“You’re irreplaceable to me,” Newt sobs, burying his face in the crook of Percival’s neck. “Stupid, foolish man. I wouldn’t know how to live anymore if you left me. I am so angry and furious at you!”

Percival hugs Newt even closer, pressing soft kisses on the side of Newt’s face. “I know. You’re allowed to be angry with me all you want.” Percival tightens his hold on Newt, murmuring sweet nothings and gliding his broad palm over Newt’s lithe back as his body is wracked with sobs.

When Newt is calm enough, Percival loosens his hold, but his arm is still surrounding Newt, not wanting to let go just yet, even when Newt shifts so as not to put pressure on the wound.

“Okay?” Percival asks, wiping Newt’s face with his free hand.

“I still have a lot to yell at you,” Newt answers, sniffing wetly and narrowing his eyes when he sees Percival grinning at him. “Don’t make me punch your face, Percival Graves.”

“Now that’s just mean,” Percival pouts, yelping when Newt pinches his side. “Ow! Abuse! Domestic violence!”

Newt blubbers out a laugh as he wipes at his eyes roughly. “You’re so stupid.”

Percival pulls Newt in for a kiss, a soft press of lips against lips; and Newt lets him.

“Will you stay with this stupid man tonight?” Percival whispers when they pull apart, resting their foreheads together again.

“You know I’ll stay with you forever,” Newt whispers back, kissing Percival again before he climbs onto the bed to rest next to his husband.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you have reached this point, thank you so much for reading! kudos and comment are really much appreciated!
> 
> find me on [auroargraves](http://auroargraves.tumblr.com/).


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